


you were a vision in the morning when the light came through

by xxPayne



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - America, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, High School Student Louis, M/M, No Smut, University Student Harry, eleanor is louis' best friend and there is NO love triangle, louis is technically underage (16) for parts of this but there is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 11:50:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4918447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxPayne/pseuds/xxPayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry thought it would be easy: just sneak out while the boy is asleep and then try to ignore his own guilty conscience. Of course, nothing ever turns out the way he plans. A spilled pumpkin spice latte, a few literal fireworks, and a peek at Louis' facebook later, Harry knows he is completely and utterly screwed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you were a vision in the morning when the light came through

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, wow, I am definitely proud of myself for this one. I've never finished a fic this fast! Anyway, as stated in the tags, Louis is underage according to the US (16) in most of this story, and it is mentioned that he had sex with Harry, who is of age, but there are no sex scenes and nothing too vulgar mentioned. The age gap is about 5 years.  
> (Edit: Now that I'm 18 and in college, I regret writing Louis as underage, because I realize how different my maturity level was 2 years ago compared to now. I didn't think it was a big deal for Louis to be 16, because I was 16 at the time of writing this. PLEASE be cautious when reading this, and I would prefer if this fic wasn't shared anywhere else online. Thank you!)

Harry wakes up in someone else’s bed, a stranger he barely remembers picking up at Niall’s house party. He’s afraid to look at see who it is, praying that it’s not someone he knows, and then sort of praying that it is, so he can assure himself that he was being safe last night. Instead, he shuts his eyes until his head stops pounding so hard, and then quietly rolls out of bed. His clothes are scattered on the floor, inside out and covered in dog hair, which is odd considering there was definitely no dog in the room at any point last night. Harry doesn’t question it, just shakes his clothes out and slips them on hurriedly but silently, finishing by lacing up his shoes again and wondering if he should just leave. He’s not exactly a one night stand kind of guy--has only done it a few times, but it was always with people he’s at least met once or twice--and he doesn’t know the “proper” etiquette. After considering texting Niall and then realizing that he’s probably still asleep, Harry sighs and reasons with himself that the person he slept with almost definitely knew what they were getting into--you don’t go home with a stranger from a party and then expect them to stay, do you? No, Harry thinks, he doesn’t have to stay. But he figures he should at least  _ see _ who he was with last night, and--

_ Holy fuck. _

The boy sleeping peacefully next to Harry is breathtakingly beautiful, even with greasy hair, a drooling mouth, and heavy bags under his eyes. Harry can’t imagine how good he must look when he’s awake, but he’s also young. Probably a freshman. Harry remembers his freshman year, his first frat party, his first hook-up… He’d been devastated when he woke up alone the next morning, and he’s about to go and repeat the cycle? He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. But.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispers, pulling the blankets up so they drape around the cute boy’s shoulders. He snuggles into the touch instinctively, and Harry’s heart drops. “Fuck, I’m really sorry,” and then he takes his arm off the boy’s shoulders, using it to push himself up and off the bed. “Goodbye.”

He picks his phone up off the nightstand, takes one last look at the sleeping beauty, and then leaves, his mind filled with regret. He just wants to leave and forget this ever happened.

+

Later in the day, when Harry is on his way to his next class and has time to reflect, he thinks that his reaction this morning was a bit dramatic. After all, just because his one-night-stand was cute and small, doesn’t mean he has a heart of glass that will break at any small incident. The boy had shown up at a house party, probably gotten drunk, and had slept with Harry, also drunk--he had to have known what would happen in the morning. So Harry keeps thinking and thinking about it until he eventually comes to the conclusion that he shouldn’t feel bad, or at least he shouldn’t feel bad about leaving the boy alone. He  _ should _ , however, feel bad about having a drunk one-night-stand, because who knows who he could have gone home with if not a harmless freshman. 

“Harry? ‘Ya alright, mate?”

Harry snaps his attention to his Irish friend, Niall, whose accent would be nearly indecipherable if Harry hadn’t grown up in Cheshire himself. It was quite funny, actually, the first person he met after moving to the US being an Irishman. “Sorry,” Harry says, shaking his head. “I’m exhausted. Need some coffee.”

Niall nods sympathetically, though he’s never experienced a hangover in his life. “‘Ya know Starbucks has pumpkin spice lattes again.”

After checking the time on his phone to make sure they won’t be late for class, Harry shrugs and turns to walk towards the nearest coffee shop. They don’t have to walk long, as there’s practically a Starbucks on every corner of campus. 

The usual crowd is waiting inside, young college students and older business people, both kinds having severe frowns and rapidly texting fingers. As they get in line, Harry worries that there are too many people here and they really will be late, but it moves quickly and before long, Harry and Niall are walking out of Starbucks with matching lattes and still have time for a little conversation before class. 

“So who’d you pull last night, then?” Niall asks casually, doing his signature cackle when Harry splutters indignantly.

“I didn’t,” Harry shrugs, avoiding his eyes. “I went back home.”

“Really? Because I went to your dorm to borrow some toilet paper--long story--and I used your hidden key when you didn’t answer. Before you say anything, you could have been dying and I could have saved your life! But, funny enough, there was no one home.”

Harry frowns at having been caught. “No, I mean, I didn’t go home, but I went home with a friend, and I just crashed on their couch because I didn’t want to walk all the way back.”

“Uh-huh,” Niall nods, his face blank before bursting into more cheerful laughter. “Right, okay, because someone must have accidentally put a vacuum hose against your neck or something, yeah?”

Harry’s eyes widen comically as he nearly breaks his neck trying to look for the spot. Eventually, ignoring Niall's maniacal squawking, he gets his phone out and turns the front-facing camera on, pouting when he realizes there’s a massive hickey there, and he has no scarf or jacket to cover it. “Damn it,” he mutters, touching it and wincing. “Jesus, that hurts. What was he thinking?”

He remembers the peaceful, sweet look on the boy’s face this morning, and it’s hard to connect that with someone who would bite his neck  _ this _ hard during sex. “ _ Niall _ ,” he whines. “What do I do?”

“Mate, I don’t know. Find Perrie, maybe she’ll have some makeup or something.”

“I don’t have time for that!” Harry cries, biting his lip anxiously. Now that he knows he’s got a hickey, he feels like everyone is staring at him. They probably aren’t, but it feels that way, when heads keep turning in their direction one after the other, though that’s actually pretty normal for Harry and Niall. They don’t really acknowledge it.

One more check of the time and Harry says, “Niall, it’s already eight forty, and I have no idea where Perrie would even be.”

“Wait, it’s eight forty?” Niall asks, and Harry nods slowly. “Oh shit, I have to talk to my professor, I’ll catch up with you later! Good luck!”

And then, in a flurry of dyed blonde hair and loud,  _ loud _ words, Niall is turning around and running off before Harry can even say goodbye. Shaking his head with a fond chuckle, Harry continues walking towards class, and deciding after a quick check that it’s safe enough to look at his phone and walk--no bikes, no cars, no skateboards--he starts texting Perrie an SOS. Of course, as clumsy as Harry is, he should have never taken his eyes off the sidewalk, but now here he is, decidedly not looking at the sidewalk. He should have known better, really.

Harry collides with a solid object just as he sends off his text, immediately falling onto the concrete, his latte spilling everywhere, including his shirt, his bag,  _ and _ his brand new YSL boots that he’d been saving up for for  _ months _ . If that wasn’t enough, he quickly realizes that he hadn’t crashed into a  _ thing _ , rather a  _ what _ , when there’s a tiny squeak from directly underneath him. And actually, that makes sense--he doubts the concrete would ever be this squishy.

“ I am so sorry!” the person cries, sounding on the verge of tears. Harry doesn’t know why he’s apologizing when  _ he’s _ the one that was being stupid, and he starts to apologize right back until--

Oh. Oh god.

The boy underneath him is, honest to God, as fate would have it, the boy he’d slept with last night and left without speaking to. 

Harry is speechless, his mouth floundering like a fish. The boy seems to be doing the same, though he’s definitely more apologetic about it.

Right, apologies.

“I’m really sorry, that was my fault,” Harry whispers, slowly planting both hands on the pavement to push himself upright, extracting himself from the very soft, pliant boy-he-slept-with underneath him. Then he sees that he had been wearing a white t-shirt, and now he’s soaked with, thankfully, luke-warm, sugary coffee and melted whipped cream. “Oh my god, I’m really so sorry. I can’t believe I--Ugh.”

Harry looks around for something to help clean the boy’s shirt off, but aside from the sprinklers watering the grass next to them, there’s nothing he could really do about it. The boy continues to be stunned and silent, and Harry is starting to feel worried.

“Look, I’m really, like, sorry. About this and about--you know. I’m sorry.”

“No worries,” the boy finally chokes out, his smile not reaching his eyes. “Actually, I was about to, um, come find you. I mean, that sounds creepy. I just meant, I just wanted to, like, talk to you.”

Dread fills Harry’s stomach. He can’t help it; just hearing the words “I wanted to talk” coming from a one-night-stand’s mouth fills him up with worry. “Right, okay, I would,” Harry says slowly, not wanting to hurt the boy anymore than he probably already has. “But I really, really have to get to class, I was about to be late as it is, and now I have to clean myself up and everything…”

The boy nods quickly, but his lips drop into an involuntary grimace. “Okay,” he whispers, looking away, down at his t-shirt. “I understand.”

And then he sits up, and he looks so pitiful--he’s so young and innocent looking, even in the light of day, and he’s so cute, he has to admit it, and now he looks sad, too, and Harry really can’t help it, he just--

“Here, let me write my phone number down,” Harry says, digging through his now soggy bag and uncapping a sharpie. He waits for his permission before picking up his arm and scribbling his phone number, his real phone number, not a fake, on the inside of the boy’s wrist. “Call me anytime after three and we can talk.”

Louis is so clearly delighted. It’s like a fire has been lit in his heart, and his eyes brighten from the flame. “Awesome, cool,” he stumbles, smile faltering at his own awkwardness. Harry knows the feeling. “Anyway. Um. Cool.”

“Cool,” Harry repeats, and can’t help shooting the boy a genuine smile. “Okay, I really have to go. I’m sorry about your shirt! If you need me to, I can give you some money for a new one later, yeah?”

The boy nods, and then he must realize he’s still laying on the concrete, because he scrambles up quickly and starts grabbing all his stuff, which is, strangely, nothing but a duffle bag filled with clothes. Harry finds it a bit odd, but he lets it go in favor of rushing with all he’s got to his class, soaked in now-cold, sticky coffee, his hair messy, and a giant hickey on his neck.

+

By the time his last class is over, Harry is exhausted and feels really,  _ really _ gross. He can’t wait to go back to the dorm and take a shower--can already imagine the feeling of the hot water cascading down his body and clearing away all the grime he’s collected from being sticky all day. When he gets home, he finds that he has an actual feather stuck to the back of his arm, and who knows how long that has been there? With his luck, probably all day.

Either way, as soon as he gets to the collective bathroom (which doesn’t have much of a wait, as most people either shower in the morning or night), he strips down and starts soaping up his body. He’s almost done when his phone starts ringing.

There’s no reason to be anxious. He’s got hundreds of people in his contacts--most of them he hasn’t talked to in years, but--and the chances of it being Louis calling him are actually quite small, and yet he feels a thrill of nerves at the thought of answering the call. Still, he quickly rinses himself off and grabs a towel, wrapping it around his waist while he picks up his phone and hits the big green phone symbol.

“Hello?” Harry asks, trying to sound like he’s not about to shit himself.

“ Hi!” the other person responds, and there’s no denying it. It’s  _ the _ boy.

“Oh, hi,” he says, putting the phone between his shoulder and cheek so he can unfold his t-shirt and slip it on. “What’s up?”

The boy doesn’t falter not even once, just barrels into a conversation that’s mostly one-sided. “I was just wondering if you wanted to go to the movies with me sometime? I mean, I can kind of only do it on a weekend, so, like, today or we’d have to wait until next week, but I’d really like to go. To the movies, with you.”

“Oh,” Harry bites his lip. “Oh, uh. Yeah, maybe? I don’t think I can tonight, but next week, yeah?”

If Harry was a smarter person, he’d have cut it off right there. He has no interest in dating this boy--no matter how adorable he is--and he should tell him so, to keep him from being more upset later. But when has Harry ever done the right thing when it comes to relationships?

“That’s fine,” the boy says, but he sounds decidedly not fine. “Some other time.”

That’s how, for the second time that day, Harry compromises with this random one-night-stand and tells him, “Well, what if I stopped over at your dorm for a little bit, we could just hang out? And I owe you money, for the shirt.”

“Brilliant!” the boy cries before probably feeling embarrassed and toning it down. “Sounds like a plan. Or, actually, could I just pop over to your dorm? Mine is messy beyond belief and my roommate already has a friend over right now.”

Harry gives him the dorm number and then hangs up, quickly getting dressed and fixing his hair a little bit. In the group chat he has open with Niall and two other friends, Liam and Zayn, Niall invites them to a ‘friendly get-together tonight’ which means it’s not a party, just a bunch of people sitting around and sharing their weed. It’s not Harry’s scene, and he guesses he just made plans anyway, so he declines.

He makes his way back to the dorm just in time to clean up a bit before there’s a timid knock on the door. Luckily enough, Harry has this dorm to himself, so it always stays fairly tidy, and he doesn’t have to worry about anyone interrupting he and Louis, though he’s not planning on their being anything to interrupt tonight.

The boy is standing at the door with his arms crossed behind his back, wearing a tight black t-shirt which is just see-through enough that Harry can see his collarbones and think that he’d look really good with a chest piece. He looks just as nervous as Harry, probably even more so, and sadistically, that makes Harry feel better. “Hey,” he greets the boy, opening the door wider so he can get in. He goes straight for the desk chair next to the bed, nervously sitting down and crossing his legs like Peter Pan, then uncrossing them, then crossing them again.

Harry sits down on his bed, the only place other than the floor that he could. “So, uh…”

The boy laughs a little, but it’s such a nervous sound that Harry doesn’t know what to do with it. 

Complete silence falls between them, until Harry picks up his laptop and starts loading Netflix, for some background noise that will hopefully loosen the boy up enough for him to explain why he wanted to talk. “Is this okay?” he tilts the screen towards him so he can see what’s playing, some random movie that’s been sitting in his list for ages.

He nods, and smiles a little. Then, after another moment of silence, the boy finally blurts, with bright red cheeks and shaking hands, “Why did you leave this morning?”

Harry blanches, mumbling ‘err’s and ‘uhh’s and ‘umm’s until he manages to say, “Well, I guess I thought, um, that that would be easier for both of us, so we wouldn’t have to talk to each other and, you know, it be awkward.” The _ like it is now _ goes unsaid.

The boy--Harry really needs to come up with a sneaky way to figure out his name--nods, but he looks disheartened. “So, like, you didn’t want to talk to me?”

Harry stays silent, biting his lip.

“Okay,” the boy says. “But you want to talk to me now, right? Like, maybe we could see each other again?”

Harry scrunches his eyebrows and slowly nods, though he feels like cutting it off right here and now, to save themselves the embarrassment and tension. But he’s starting to feel partial towards this boy, who is probably too innocent for his own good and seems like a total sweetheart. If they’d met in other circumstances, he’s sure they’d be great friends.

“Cool,” he smiles, a bright, blinding one. He really is so pretty, Harry thinks, like sunshine compacted into one tiny body. “So, could I ask you something? Like, kinda weird?”

Laughing, Harry says yes.

“Was I, like, good? I mean, last night… Was I okay?”

From that statement alone, Harry would’ve believed that this boy is just insecure or wants to get better or something, but combined with the fact that he’d been upset that Harry left this morning and that he’d been trying to find Harry later, it’s easy to tell that he must have been a virgin. Shit.

“Uh,” Harry is at a complete loss for words. One, he can’t even remember what happened last night, and two, he’s not sure if he should let this boy know that he knows he was a virgin, lest it embarrass him. “I mean, I don’t really--Like, I wasn’t exactly sober,” Harry continues slowly. “So, mate, I don’t really know.”

The boy looks disappointed. Harry feels a bit shit for constantly disappointing him. He’s only known him for less than twenty-four hours, and yet he’s already acted like an ass at least three times. That reminds him, “Oh, I need to give you the money for the shirt.”

He reaches for his wallet, but then gets a brilliant idea so that he can learn this boy’s name without looking like an even bigger ass. “I don’t have any cash on me. Could I write you a check, maybe?”

He blinks, and then shrugs.

“So, I should make it out to…”

“Louis Tomlinson.”

Perfect, Harry thinks, Louis really suits him.

So Harry takes out his checkbook, and then pretends that he just realized something that he’d known all along--“Oh, you know what, I have a twenty in my pants’ pocket.”

Louis takes the twenty hesitantly. “The shirt didn’t cost this much,” he says.

“Yeah, well, I don’t have change for anything else. Never say no to free money.”

After that, things get much easier for them. It starts with Harry telling terrible knock knock jokes to make Louis smile, and then Louis surprises them both by showing off his own repertoire of bad jokes. Soon, Louis is lying next to him on the bed, the laptop balanced evenly between them as they pay half attention to the movie that’s still playing. Every now and then, one of them will say something, and a conversation will start, and then they’ll fall into silence again--comfortable silence, though, a silence that Harry can get used to. With his other friends, as much as he loves them, he sometimes feels like he needs to constantly fill up their time together with words, but with Louis, it's okay to let the silence live for a while, long enough for them to think up something meaningful to say.

By the time the movie is over, Louis is covering yawns behind his sweater paws, and Harry’s eyes are starting to droop a little. He shuts his laptop and sets it on the floor, and then says, “You shouldn’t walk home in the dark--Do you need a ride?”

Louis shakes his head and sits up so that he can dig his phone out of his pocket. “No, I’ll just call my sister to pick me up.”

“Oh, who’s your sister? I might know her, if she goes here.”

“Um, her name is Lottie, it’s her last year.”

“I do know her!” Harry cries, pleased with himself. “I didn’t know she had a brother! We had an economics class together last year, but she tested out of that. She’s a smart one.”

Louis laughs in agreement as he dials her number. After giving her the address to Harry’s dorm, he tells her goodbye and then goes back to lying down on the bed. “She’ll be here in a half hour, if that’s okay?”

“ That’s fine,” Harry says. He leans back a little so he can lay closer to Louis--to share body heat, of course. Louis shifts closer too, so that their shoulders are touching and their hands grazing. Like this, their heads are so close together that Harry can hear his breathing, can even see his chest moving with every breath. It’s sort of scary how much Harry likes it--he hasn’t been this physically close to anyone in a non-sexual way in almost a year. He’d thought he didn’t mind, but this, this is proving that he  _ does, _ and he never wants to stop touching Louis, even just the way he is now, just grazing skin. It’s almost crazy to think that he’s only just met Louis today.

And then, Louis turns his head just a little, so he’s facing Harry, and Harry’s breath catches in his throat because,  _ wow _ . He just keeps finding new things about Louis that he loves--like the tiny freckles on his cheeks which honest to God look like constellations waiting to be formed. And the soft, plumpness of Louis’ lips. And the little flecks of green in Louis’ eyes. And--

Louis kisses him.

His lips feel just as soft as they looked, and Harry loses himself for a moment, just letting himself feel them on his before he starts kissing back, leaning up a bit to press harder, their lips still gently moving. Inside Harry’s head, explosions are going off, loud noises and bright colors, and-- _ wait _ .

“ Are those--fireworks?” Louis pulls away to ask, craning his neck to look out the window. Harry follows suit, and they both burst into belly-aching laughter, both of them astonished at the  _ literal _ fireworks happening outside Harry’s dorm. They’re cheap ones that don’t go so high in the sky--probably bought illegally-- and since Harry’s dorm is only one floor up, they’ve got a perfect view of the pretty lights. Louis snuggles closer to Harry as their laughter calms down and is replaced by an overwhelming feeling of cheesy romance.

“I can’t believe this,” Louis giggles, hiding his face in Harry’s chest, but quickly pulling away so he doesn’t miss the last fireworks. “This is so--It’s like we’re in a movie.”

Their laughter soon dissolves into more kissing and then dissolves into more laughter, until a knock on the door interrupts them.

“Oh, that’s Lottie, then,” Louis says, looking up at Harry through his eyelashes all innocent and coy. It doesn’t matter if his attempts at flirting are transparent, they are honestly working. “I should…”

Harry helps Louis stand, his hand lingering on Louis’ before letting go. By the time Louis leaves, Harry finds himself feeling completely and utterly flustered.

+

“I met someone,” is what comes out of Harry’s mouth after a few pints with Niall, Liam, and Zayn the following Wednesday.

“No shit!” Liam cries, smacking him on the arm. “I thought you’d be single for life, with how anti-relationship you are.”

Harry pouts as he rubs his tender arm--a classic case of Liam not knowing just how strong he is. “It’s not, like, official. I literally just met him four days ago,” Harry bites his lip, thinking that  _ this _ is why he doesn’t do relationships. Because he always jumps into them too fast, and the other person isn’t on the same page, and it always ends badly. “But his name is Louis and I slept with him.”

He hadn’t meant to admit that. He really, really hadn’t. He gets sloppy when he’s drunk.

Niall chortles--honest to God chortles, the only person on the planet who  _ chortles _ \--and says, “So he’s the lad from my party?”

“Oh, the short one? With the cheekbones?” Zayn asks. “I talked to him for a bit, before you took him away, mate.”

“Wait, I never saw him,” Liam whines, slurping up his pint, which he is inappropriately drinking from a bendy straw. “Show me his Facebook. I need to approve.”

Harry rolls his eyes, but digs out his phone anyway. He has to admit that he’s curious too--he hasn’t been on Facebook in a while, so he hadn’t bothered to add Louis yet. When he types Louis’ name in, he has to search through so many strangers’ profiles that he almost thinks he doesn’t have one, until he finally sees Louis’ smiling face in a profile picture. He’s posing next to a pretty girl with long brown hair and runway-style fashion sense. For a second, Harry is worried that maybe Louis is ‘straight’ and dating this poor girl, and Harry is the equivalent of a mistress--

But when he clicks on the page, and then immediately finds the girl in the picture, he lets out a breath of relief upon finding that she’s in a relationship with a guy named Max. Feeling slightly ashamed of himself, Harry shakes his head and goes back to Louis’ profile. It’s filled with cute little anecdotes and pictures of Louis with friends, or cheeky selfies, or funny things. But as he’s scrolling, trying to find a picture to show the boys, he realizes that in the background of a lot of the pictures is what looks like a  _ high school _ \--the lockers, the cafeteria, even the gym. His mind races as he comes up with a million explanations that aren’t ‘Louis is a high school student’. Like, maybe Louis is majoring in teaching so he’s working at the school as a teacher’s assistant. Maybe he’s a volunteer at the school. Maybe he has a younger brother or sister. Maybe--

No, no. This can’t be happening.

There, under Louis’ name, are the words “attending Hall Cross High School” in big, bold print. “No,” Harry whispers aloud, his hands shaking as he keeps staring and staring at the words until his eyes go blurry. He clicks on his photo albums again and scrolls through picture after picture of Louis inside a school, sometimes even wearing a school uniform. A  _ school uniform _ .

“Haz?” he hears distantly, but he feels too sick to respond. “Harry, what happened?”

Harry slams the phone onto the table and looks at his friends with wide eyes. “I-I,” he stutters, feeling like someone’s put a spotlight on him and thrust a microphone in front of his face without warning--he’s so caught off guard. Never in a million years did he think he’d be one of  _ those guys _ , the guys who date high-schoolers and then justify it by saying,  _ But, dude, when she’s thirty, I’ll be thirty five and it won’t matter! _ Harry has always been the one that tells them they’re wrong and then goes off on a rant about consent.

Fuck, Harry thinks, not only was Louis underage, they’d both been drunk too. Oh, Jesus. He’s going to jail. He has no future. It’s all over.

Niall picks up the phone and looks at what Harry saw moments ago, and when he pulls away, he’s biting his lip with an apologetic expression. “I swear I had no idea,” he says. “I don’t even know how he got in, unless--Lottie? Did I invite Lottie?”

Liam and Zayn nod. “Yeah, I saw her once or twice. Louis must have tagged along.”

Harry puts his arms down on the beer-sticky table, his head falling down after. “I’m  _ so  _ fucked,” he says, his voice devoid of any emotion except pure, unadulterated fear. “I’m going to prison--high security federal prison where I’ll be forced to join a gang to survive. I’ll get to visit you through a glass pane every two weeks. I’ll be stabbed by a rival gang member and because of inadequate medical attention, I’ll die. I’ll  _ die _ .”

“ Oh, shut up,” Niall says, slamming his hand down to Harry’s in an equal parts reprimanding and comforting gesture. “You’re  _ not _ going to die, Haz. Just tell Louis that you didn’t know he was underage, and chances are he won’t even tell his parents! Even if he did, and you got arrested, you’d only be in jail for, like, a year. And not even high security! It’ll all be okay!”

“A year,” Harry whispers, feeling dangerously close to a meltdown. The boys must recognize this, because they immediately go off on Niall.

“You can’t say things like that, Niall!” and “You’re an idiot.” and “Why would you--Oh my god.”

Liam, always the sensible one, even when he’s plastered, says, “Haz, don’t even worry about it. Here’s what you need to do. It’s gonna seem a bit shitty, but just listen to me,” Harry assumes Liam is about to spout some lawyer knowledge, seeing as he’s studying law, but instead what comes out is personal advice. “Keep texting Louis occasionally, but don’t invite him anywhere and  _ don’t _ say yes if he invites you anywhere. Then you can start texting him less, tell him you’re busy a lot, but don’t  _ ever _ let him know you know he’s in high school. Then, eventually, he won’t be mad at you for leaving him, he’ll just be sad. And if he’s not angry, the chances of him telling his parents you slept with him are very low. And even if he did tell, he probably wouldn’t say it was rape, so your sentence would more likely be a fine, not conviction.”

If it weren’t for the periodic hiccups and random slurred words, Harry would’ve said that was very intelligent. But then he really thinks about what Liam said, imagines blowing Louis off--in a rude way, not a sexual way--and purposely making him sad so that it benefits  _ him _ . It’s sick, and Harry knows without even thinking about it that it’s not going to happen.

“ No way,” Harry says, his eyes burning with tears that he won’t let fall until he’s alone. “I don’t want to hurt him. Jesus, he’s only sixteen! How would you have felt if you slept with a college student when you were sixteen and then that college student lead you on until breaking it off really slowly? No, no, I can’t. I may be a scumbag that sleeps with high schoolers-- _ fuck _ \--but I won’t do that.”

Back at the drawing board, all four of them sigh and bite their lips until Zayn comes up with his own idea. “Okay, well… What if you went straight to Louis’ parents and told them what happened? Like, Louis might be pissed at you, but the parents would probably be so mad at him that they wouldn’t call the cops on you.”

“That’s literally the worst idea I’ve ever heard in my life,” Harry says. It sounds good in theory, until Louis’ (probably) overprotective father chases Harry out of the house with a gun in his hand and then immediately calls his lawyer. “That’d put me straight in jail.”

Zayn sulks at his idea being turned down, though Harry is sure that he sees the problem with it also. After a moment, he says, “You like him, though?”

Harry shuts his eyes and in the black abyss, a picture pops up of the crinkles by Louis’ eyes when he’s laughing really hard, the twinkle in his eyes, the softness of his lips--and his personality too; the stories he tells, his dreams for the future, his favorite animals and colors and books and movies and teas and… “Yeah, fuck, I really like him.”

“ Tell him the truth,” Zayn says softly. “Tell him that you’re too old for him. Tell him that you don’t want to risk going to jail, or that you  _ will _ risk it. Just tell him everything you’re feeling.”

And if that isn’t the most sensitive thing he’s heard Zayn say all year, then he doesn’t know what is. And he can’t help but agree. This idea, at least, won’t be a straight shot to prison, and it (hopefully) won’t hurt Louis. After all, he’d been the one to make the stupid decision, drunk or not, to sleep with Louis, and now he should have to face up to the consequences.

That doesn’t mean he has to be happy about it, though.

+

The thing is, Harry was going to tell Louis. He really was. But then, a few days pass of Harry texting Louis every chance they can get during the day, and suddenly it's the weekend and Louis can see Harry in person again. That’s when Harry was going to tell him, in person, but… It didn’t happen. Instead, they went to see a play being put on by Harry’s college. Then, another week flew by, Harry and Louis’ texting not ceasing even a little bit. In fact, they add on a phone call every night, where Louis says things like “I can’t wait to see you again” and Harry dies a little inside. The next weekend, Louis drives up and they go bowling with Niall, Liam, and Zayn, who keep shooting Harry disapproving glances after finding out that Harry still hasn’t talked to Louis about anything yet.

Harry knows he has to. But every day he becomes more and more attached to this _ boy _ , like he’d started digging a hole in Harry’s heart from the moment he’d laid eyes on him--consciously, at least, when the sunlight streamed onto Louis’ face and illuminated him like an angel.

So, on Saturday night, when Louis is about to start heading back to his “dorm”--which Harry now realizes is just his sister’s dorm, and the boys have all gone back to their own rooms, Harry decides to bring it up. They’re walking back to Harry’s, standing on deserted streets with limited light or noises.

“So… How come you can only hang out on weekends?”

Louis clearly hadn’t expected Harry to ask that. “Erm, well, I have a lot of homework. And papers and stuff.”

“Right,” Harry nods, smiling at him reassuringly. “I just realized I don’t even know what you’re majoring in.”

“Music,” Louis answers instantly, his eyes going a little starry. This must be his dream, then. “I sing, sometimes. Like, I’m not very good, but that’s why I’m here. To get better at music. I like to write stuff, too. Songs, I mean. My best friend Eleanor and I write songs and put them online.”

The way he talks, Harry thinks, will be the absolute death of him. He’s so clearly passionate about music, that if Harry hadn’t seen for himself that Louis is in highschool, he would have believed wholeheartedly that Louis was majoring in music.

Instead of grilling Louis again, Harry sighs and decides that he’s done enough today in terms of digging. “Sing something,” he says. “Please?”

Louis sends a weary look at his surroundings. “Here?”

Harry nods, and swings their clasped hands back and forth. “For me?”

Though he’s a giggly, nervous mess, Louis starts singing, the words blending together so that Harry’s not able to understand them and is forced to focus on the beautiful sound of it all, the way his voice is sometimes clear and high and sometimes low and raspy, all of it coming together and complementing itself. When he’s done with the song, he smiles shyly at Harry under his eyelashes and clears his throat quietly. “What did you think?”

“That,” Harry says, honestly a bit breathless, “Was fucking amazing.”

And then he can’t help himself, just leans in for a kiss, their lips slotting together effortlessly. It doesn’t last long, though, as they’re both eventually smiling too hard to continue without smacking their teeth together--as romantic as the books claim this is, it’s really not that pleasant when it's actually your teeth getting knocked.

“You’re not just saying that? It’s good?”

“I swear,” Harry says honestly, his eyes surely looking like literal hearts. “You’re gonna be a star, baby.”

Louis snorts and then his eyes widen dramatically like he can’t believe he just did that. It sends them both into a fit of laughter, with more cute, embarrassing snorts. They’re not even drunk, is the thing, they’re just drunk on each other, on kisses and happiness. And underneath it all, Harry feels  _ so _ guilty.

+

“You’ve gotta tell him, Haz, you’re only making it worse for yourself.”

Liam, Niall, and Zayn have cornered him before his first class of the day. They stand in a triangle around him, their expressions matching a scolding mother.

“ I know,” Harry says, feeling dangerously close to a meltdown as time goes on. He  _ knows _ he needs to tell Louis. Every time he sees the boy, he feels this overwhelming shame, and he wants it to end, of course he does, but he doesn’t want  _ everything _ to end. Despite feeling like a gross pervert, he doesn’t want to end it with Louis, doesn’t even want to be just friends with him. “I think I love him.”

“Oh, Jesus, Harry,” Liam says, exasperated, but his eyes are sympathetic.

They back off after that, but never stop giving him the disapproving mother looks.

+

Louis comes over again that weekend. They stay in this time, like that first night, watching Netflix and making out for hours. Louis’ hand slides dangerously close to the hem of Harry’s pants, and so Harry pretends he’s really interested in the episode of Supernatural they’re watching. Louis doesn’t say anything, but his eyes look sad.

+

The next weekend, Harry and Louis both have too much homework and studying to do to get together, but they make up for it by exchanging hours-long phone calls every night. The weekend after that, they go out to the club with all of Harry’s friends, Niall, Zayn, Liam, and others, like Perrie, Nick, Xander, Jeff, a few others. Louis must have a fake ID, because he gets through the door without a hitch, and then he’s introduced to everyone, though Harry is sure he forgets their names instantly. They mostly hang around the three boys that Louis knows already, but that creates a problem as Louis starts getting curious as to why they keep looking at Harry so weirdly. “It’s nothing,” Harry promises. “They’re kinda mad at me because I ditched their party last weekend.”

Louis seems to believe him, and ignores the weird glances. 

Everyone gets a bit tipsy--okay, a lot tipsy--and Harry allows himself to be happy for a moment, to just enjoy the company of his  _ boyfriend _ , partying with his best friends in the world. The lights are bright and colorful, they’re playing the best dance music out there, and the alcohol is half price that night because apparently it’s the owners’ anniversary and they left their son in charge of the place. It’s packed full of people, mostly college students, although there is one bachelorette party going on. Niall must know one of the bridesmaids somehow, because he immediately ditches his own group in favor of donning a bright pink hat with the words “Cock slut” on it.

Louis watches on, amused, taking a sip of his fruity drink. He turns to Harry and says, “Isn’t he--”

“Straight?” Harry finishes, nodding his head with a smirk. “Yup. He doesn’t even sleep with the bridemaids or anything, he just loves bachelorette parties.”

Louis giggles, and Harry wonders, not for the first time, how one boy could be so attractive. “Anyway, your friend, the, um… Pretty, blonde… What was her name?”

He points a finger towards the dirty blonde girl dancing a few feet away, balancing her drink without spilling a single drop. “Perrie,” Harry answers. “What about her?”

“She’s asking us to dance.”

So they spend most of the night dancing with all of Harry’s various friends, never really getting a chance to dance with each other. It’s probably for the best, Harry thinks, as just imagining Louis grinding against him is making him feel guilty. Eventually, everyone starts tiring, so they all crowd into a booth and simply talk for a while.

As everyone starts mumbling about various commitments and responsibilities they have the next morning and the night starts coming to a close, Louis shyly whispers in Harry’s ear--rather, since the music is so loud, yells loudly in his ear--to ask if he could stay the night in Harry’s dorm.

Harry should definitely say no. His mouth is even forming the word “no” when instead, all that comes out is a silent nod of the head.

Before he can even think about going back on it, Louis’ entire face breaks out into a gut-wrenching smile--more of a grin, really--and he says, “That’s so great, I was really worried that you didn’t… Like, I dunno, you didn’t…”

“I know what you mean,” Harry says, and takes a huge gulp of beer so he doesn’t have to continue that train of thought. “I’ve got to get up pretty early tomorrow morning, though. You won’t mind if we go to sleep right away, yeah?”

It’s not as smooth as Harry would like it to be, but at least it sounds believable. Louis nods, though he looks put out, a bit. “That’s fine,” he says. “Well, should we, uh… Go now?”

They both say goodbye to their friends, and Liam stares him dead in the eye with a warning look as they part ways. It sends chills down Harry’s spine, and if he hadn’t already told himself he wouldn’t do anything with Louis tonight, that would have made him stay away.

When they arrive back at Harry’s dorm, he immediately sets out some pajama pants and a sweater for Louis, turning around so he can change without looking at Louis. It’s hard enough to keep his hands off Louis when he’s sober, let alone pissed.

Again, Louis doesn’t mention it, but Harry knows he can’t keep doing this kind of stuff forever. At some point he’ll have to face up to it and tell Louis the truth. But that can wait, he thinks.

+

Harry and Louis have been texting nonstop all day, because Louis had stayed “in his dorm” sick that day, and Harry was constantly checking up on him during any free moment he had. Throughout the day, Louis sent him a series of pictures including giant mountains of blankets, a stack of DVD’s, a thermometer with a worryingly high number on it, and finally a selfie of a red-nosed, sleepy-eyed, soft, snuggly Louis with a massive pout on his face. Harry nearly sent himself into a panic trying to make sure he’s alright, even asking a few of his professors if he could step outside to answer an emergency call, which, of course, was not actually an emergency, or he would be sprinting all the way to the hospital.

“Are you still okay?” Harry asks into the phone during his third class, the last one before a two and a half hour break.

Louis sniffles a little, saying, “Yeah, Haz, you shouldn’t keep leaving class for me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry says, sighing. “As soon as this class ends--half an hour or so--I’ll stop by your dorm, okay?”

For a moment, Harry genuinely forgets that Louis doesn’t have a dorm, that he’s not a college student, that he’s not Harry’s college boyfriend. So it almost surprises him when Louis cries out, “No!” and then coughs violently with the force of it. Harry’s eyes widen, and he remembers. “No, Haz, you don’t have to do that, I swear. I’m fine!”

“But I want to take care of you,” Harry frowns, grumpy at the thought of Louis being sick and weak and not having anyone to cuddle with.

“Well, I don’t want to get you sick too,” Louis says, but Harry knows better.

“ Yeah, okay,” he breathes, trying his hardest not to get annoyed, especially since Louis is sick right now. “Okay, fine, but when class ends, we’re skyping for my  _ full _ break, yeah? I l--”

With complete astonishment towards himself, he realizes he was about to say the big three words to Louis over the  _ phone _ . He shakes his head and finishes with, “I hope you feel better, babe, I’ll call you when I’m done here.”

Louis sniffles one last time and then says a quiet goodbye. 

+

It takes eternity for Harry to make it back to his own dorm room after class. The campus is packed with people milling about for no particular reason, and when he stops into the cafeteria to pick up a microwave meal and a cup of coffee (which tastes something like battery acid, but he doesn’t want to keep Louis waiting long enough to get Starbucks), he feels like a bull in a china shop with how many people he bumps into. He hurries in and hurries out, practically running through the crowded sidewalks back to his dorm, where he sticks his food in the microwave and boots up his computer.

When Louis answers the call and his image pops up on the screen, Harry is surprised by how sick Louis really looks. Or, that's what he thinks, until he notices the tear tracks on his cheeks and starts panicking. 

“Lou?” he asks, moving the laptop so he can lie down but still be in view of the camera. “Lou, baby, what’s wrong?”

Louis wipes his eyes and shakes his head frantically. “Nothing,” he insists. “I’m just, like, my throat hurts really bad and I have this horrible headache and… I’m just sick. Nothing else is wrong.”

Harry isn’t sure if he should believe him or not, but then Louis starts making small talk to change the conversation and Harry figures he shouldn’t push. The microwave beeps in the middle of Louis explaining the plot of a movie he watched earlier, and by the time he’s finished eating, Louis is on to telling him about how he and Eleanor’s blog just hit 500 followers. He looks so enthusiastic about it, so genuinely happy that Harry wouldn’t even think of raining on his parade by asking invasive questions.

“That’s awesome,” Harry grins. “If Eleanor is even half as talented as you are, then you two deserve it. When can I see you guys perform in person?”

“We don’t really--” Louis starts, worrying his lower lip with his teeth. “It’s just the blog, for now. We don’t, like, perform.”

“Well, maybe we could meet up and you two could just sing for me? When you’re not sick, of course. I’ve introduced you to practically the entire campus, but I’ve never met any of your friends.”

Louis frowns, and then quickly tries to hide it behind a smile. “Yeah, you’re right,” he whispers. “I-I’ll text her later, maybe we could get together next weekend.”

“Don’t worry about it so much,” Harry says softly, wishing he could give Louis a big hug and to wipe the frown off his face with a kiss. “If she can’t come, or something, don’t worry about it.”

Louis nods, and finally his face is enveloped with a real smile. Harry glances at the time on the bottom corner of the screen and mutters, “Shit, I have to go or I’ll be late, I’ll call you again when I’m home, okay?”

+

A few days later, when Harry should be studying for a unit test he’s got coming up, he realizes that it’s now been two months since he met Louis--and two whole months since he found out that Louis is still in high school. With every word he speaks, every kiss, every text, he feels more and more guilty about it, and yet, after a certain period of time passes, he starts to feel angry at  _ Louis _ , too, for lying to him this long. Harry knows it’s all his own fault, and logically he shouldn’t put any blame on Louis, who’s probably just really infatuated with Harry and probably doesn’t even have the feelings for him that Harry has for Louis. But it seems like every time they talk, Harry gives Louis at least three chances to confess, but he never does. He’s  got an excuse for everything, or he’s just really good at deflecting. Sometimes he’s so good that Harry even forgets the truth. He wonders if maybe Louis forgets too, when they’re lying in bed together and talking about Louis’ music major and their plans for the future.

But it’s been two months, now, and Harry can’t keep pretending to himself that what he’s doing is okay.

So that Friday, when Louis calls him up and confirms their plans to meet up with Eleanor at a little coffee shop close to campus, Harry formulates a plan. He’s going to have a good time, he’s going to meet Eleanor, and then he’s going to bring  _ it _ up. He figures that if Eleanor is there, she’ll be like a buffer, and she’ll be able to comfort Louis when everything goes to shit, like it inevitably will.

As he gets ready, Harry is practically tearing his hair out with worry. He’s bitten his nails down to stubs while picking apart all the flaws in his plan. He knows there are many, but he has no other ideas, and at least this way Louis will have a friend with him.

The air has a bite to it as he walks to the obscure coffee shop. If he weren’t so anxious, he’d appreciate the beauty of all the fallen leaves and orange trees. When he arrives, he’s surprised by how tiny it is--there’s only two tables, one inside and one outside. He’s the first to get there, so he takes the table inside, ordering himself a plain black coffee, his stomach in too many knots to enjoy anything sugary. He taps his fingers on the table restlessly until, finally, the door dings open and it’s Eleanor and Louis. They smile at him and then order their own coffees before sitting down next to each other, across from Harry. Louis leans across with a cheeky smile and says, “I promise I’m not contagious,” before planting a sweet kiss on his lips. 

“I’d kiss you anyway,” Harry teases when they separate. Then he relishes in the bright blush on Louis’ cheeks after glancing at his friend, who is raising her eyebrows with a smirk.

“So, erm, this is Harry,” Louis says to Eleanor. “And Harry, this is Eleanor.”

“Nice to meet you,” Harry says, holding out his hand for her to shake politely. Her wrist is dainty, but she’s got a firm grip, and Harry decides from that alone that he likes her. “Louis’ told me you guys sing together.”

“Right, yeah,” Eleanor smiles. “We’re hoping to get our own website as soon as we turn eig--”

Louis’ eyes go wide as saucers and he reaches his arm out to smack Eleanor’s bicep. She gives him an offended look, and then realizes what she almost said. It’s a little embarrassing, Harry thinks, because it’s so terribly obvious that even someone as unobservant as himself would’ve noticed whether he already knew of Louis’ age or not. Harry fakes a smile and pretends he didn’t just die inside. 

“ We’re planning on making our own website as soon as we’ve got the money to afford a good one,” she corrects, her voice steady and confident. It’s a nice save, really, and Harry would definitely be convinced if it weren’t for his previous knowledge, and, well, Louis’ expression is not doing her any favors--he’s like a deer in headlights at the moment. Eleanor continues, steering the conversation in a different direction effortlessly. She asks them how long they’ve been together, where they met, what their plans are for the future--all the basics, although judging by her mischievious looks, she already knows the answer to all of them. Then they small talk for ages, Harry becoming more and more enamoured with both Louis  _ and _ Eleanor. And, he must admit, Eleanor is  _ excellent _ at hiding things. After that one slip up in the beginning, it’s such smooth sailing that even Harry is impressed.

Though that just brings him back to the whole reason why he’s here.

After Eleanor finishes her story about how her boyfriend Max surprised her with a promise ring recently, she excuses herself to go order another coffee, and Harry can’t deny it anymore--he’s got to tell the truth. With her being out of earshot but still nearby, it’s as good of a moment as it’s going to get.

Before he can even open his mouth, Louis blurts out, “I need to talk to you.”

Harry’s mind short-circuits.

Louis needs to talk to… Him? Why? Is he planning on breaking up with Harry to save himself embarrassment down the road? Is that why Eleanor came along, to make things more casual leading up to the break up? Wh-

“I, I haven’t been…” Louis takes a deep breath and fiddles with the cardboard sleeve wrapped around his cup. “I haven’t been completely, um, honest… With you…”

Every word is dragged out slowly, almost like he  _ wants _ Harry to panic, though he knows it’s only Louis’ own nervousness causing him to speak this way. But--is he about to--

Louis looks over at Eleanor again, where she’s still standing far enough away that she can’t hear anything, but she looks behind her and they make eye contact. Harry swears he sees her give him a thumb’s up. Then Louis’ eyes are back on his, a deep sea of anxious blue, the once calming waves now crashing against the shore. Harry could write epic sonnets about his eyes--the color, the shape, the eyelashes, the depth, the lightness--but it’s not enough to distract him in that moment.

“I told you that I was a music major, and that I g-go here, and… It’s, I’m not, I’m so sorry.”

Louis puts his head in his hands, his face so low that Harry can’t see it at all. Despite the fact that he should be angry, or maybe upset, he just feels worried about Louis, and he wants nothing more than to pretend nothing is happening and take him home for a nice cuddle. But then Louis’ shoulders start shaking and he starts saying things like, “I’m so horrible, I--I shouldn’t have--Harry, I--” and he’s not saying anything of substance, he’s just crying. Harry can’t help it and reaches over to grab Louis’ small hand in his own.

“Louis,” he says quietly. When Louis doesn’t respond, he says it again. “Babe, please.”

Louis lifts his head up the tiniest bit, sniffling pitifully. Harry doesn’t even bother trying to muster up any anger, because this is enough--Louis is so obviously torn up about it, more than Harry would’ve imagined, and while Louis is sometimes a good actor, he’d never be able to pull off something like this. So Harry sighs, and rubs his thumb over the soft skin of Louis’ hand.

“ I know,” Harry says. “I know about--all of it.  _ I’m _ the one that should be apologizing--I should’ve told you the moment I found out, because it's--it’s like I was--taking advantage of you, and I swear I never meant to--I just… I didn’t want to let you go.”

Louis blinks, a perfectly formed teardrop gliding down his cheeks, and then it’s like the dam breaks, because he’s sobbing all over the place, and one might say that Louis is an “ugly crier” but Harry can’t keep his eyes off of him. He’s never seen Louis this vulnerable before (or, if he has, he was piss drunk) and it’s truly a sight. “Y-You knew?” Louis stutters, crying so hard that he starts coughing violently into the crook of his elbow.

“I’m sorry,” Harry’s voice cracks, and he’s dangerously close to crying himself. 

“ How--How did you not--Why didn’t you l-leave me? I’m just some stupid  _ kid _ .”

“ No you’re not!” Harry cries out almost instantly. He’s surprised by the intensity of just how much he really believes what he’s saying. “You’re  _ not _ a stupid kid. I’ve only known you for two months, and yet I’ve seen so many different facets of your personality--You’re kind to everyone you meet, but you’re not afraid to stand up for what you believe in; you’re an excellent singer  _ and  _ songwriter and you’ve got the ambition to make you famous, really famous one day; you’re smarter than you think you are, especially for not even being an actual college student yet; you make everyone feel important and loved; not to mention you’re fucking gorgeous; and… I love everything about you, Louis.”

Louis blinks again in disbelief. “You--You  _ love _ me?”

Harry breathes out slowly, closing his eyes so he doesn’t have to see Louis’ face. “I do. So much. But we can’t--every time I see you, I feel like I’m stealing your childhood or something. I know you’re not a child--I just got done telling you that--but it’s just, I feel so guilty when I see you, because I know that I could--” he drops his voice to a whisper “--go to jail, but it’s even worse because I’m so afraid that you’ll regret being with me, like when you’re in your twenties and look back on high school and remember  _ that guy _ who ruined your  _ life _ , or--”

“You’re not! You’re not, Harry, I promise!” Louis practically yells, and then lowers his voice with a blush. “Harry, don’t, don’t do this, I--I love you too, don’t--I’ll never regret this, or you, or anything! These two months have been amazing, and I know it sounds dramatic to say that they’re the best months of my life, but--but I love you, Harry. And I don’t want this to end.”

They stay silent for a second, and thankfully neither of them are crying anymore. Then Louis takes a breath and says, “But I understand… If you don’t want to risk being with me. It wouldn’t be fair of me to make you stay, when--when you could get in trouble,” before Harry can say anything, though, Louis is continuing. “But I, uh, I did some research, and as long as my parents know about us being together, it’s completely legal. And I’m turning seventeen in a few months anyway, so after that there’s  _ no _ chance of you getting in trouble.”

Harry feels a bit sick just talking about all this stuff, because he just keeps thinking about all the times he’s looked down on people in the same exact situation as him. “Louis--”

“Just hear me out, please,” Louis says desperately. “Just listen to what I have to say, and then I’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you want.”

Harry sighs and nods.

“ I already told my parents that I’m dating someone. And they know that he’s older than me, but I didn’t say your name so that if they reacted bad, then… But they didn’t. They’re--they weren’t happy, at first, but they know how happy you make me. And I told them we aren’t, like, having sex, and obviously I didn’t tell them how we really met, but. The point is, they don’t care. They’re just happy for me. So I just wanted you to know, that before you make a decision, you’re not going to jail, Harry. But I still understand if you don’t… If I’m too much, or, erm, if I’m not what you expected. Just--Just know that no matter what you choose, I’ll never blame you for  _ anything _ .”

Harry loses his breath when he sees Louis’ little self-deprecating smile, like he thinks he knows what Harry will decide already. The light in his eyes is still there, but it’s dimmed, not burning as bright as it should be.

“Okay,” Harry smiles.

“Okay, you’ll think about it?” Louis asks, still remaining unhopeful.

“No,” Harry says, his heart going a million miles an hour and his blood burning holes in his skin, but his mind quiet as he stares into Louis’ eyes. “Okay as in… Okay, I love you; okay, I want to be with you; okay, I’d probably risk everything just to be your boyfriend.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Louis mutters, and then surges up for one of the most violent kisses Harry’s ever participated in in his life. Their lips are pressed together so hard they must be bruising, their cheeks and noses smushed together awkwardly, teeth clashing a few uncomfortable times, altogether so sloppy and bad but it’s still the best kiss Harry’s ever had. And he knows he says that about every kiss with Louis, but this one--this one takes the cake. In the end, the only reason they stop kissing is because Eleanor, who had previously been making herself very busy on her phone, starts quietly cheering. 

When they separate and take a look at her, she’s looking almost more flustered than Louis or Harry themselves. She widens her eyes and shakes her head a few times. “Well then, that was intense. You realize you’re in a public place, yeah?”

She shoots a pointed, apologetic glance towards the indifferent barista, who has been rearranging cups and refilling the machines without looking at the couple a single time.

Harry and Louis start laughing and, as usual, can’t stop for ages. This time, though, there’s nothing weighing on Harry’s shoulders and he can fully commit to it--his heart feels free and the strings previously attached to his limbs have been cut. For the first time, he doesn’t hold himself back in Louis’ presence, and there’s no more guilt or fear. He’s  _ ecstatic _ .

+

“ Harry, why are you wearing--” Louis squints his eyes, tilting his head to the side, and biting his lip. “I told you it wasn’t a formal event. It’s a  _ barbeque _ . Why’re you wearing that?”

Harry looks down at his semi-sheer button down, tight black pants, and boots which cost an almost embarrassing amount of money. “I didn’t think this was that formal? Oh shit, everyone will think I’m trying too hard. Oh, God, even worse--they’ll think I’m your  _ sugar daddy _ . Lou, babe, I need to borrow a shirt.”

Louis giggles, placing his hand on Harry’s chest. The material is soft and shiny and you can just barely see Harry’s tattoos through the fabric. “Don’t change,” he says, leaning up for a kiss, but stopping at the last second to hover over his lips. “Let them think you’re my sugar daddy.”

Harry bends down for a real kiss, their lips just barely ghosting before Louis is pulling away again, the tease, and laughing while he says, “Besides, if they talk to you for more than two seconds, they’ll realize you’re just as broke and dorky as I am.”

“Hey,” Harry pouts, making what Louis calls his “frog face”.

Louis giggles again and kisses him one last time before skipping away. “We’ve got to go now or we’ll be late!” then he turns to the hallway and yells, “Eleanor, boys, get a move on!”

Everyone--including Liam, Niall, Zayn, and Eleanor--meets on the front porch, all dressed in jeans and t-shirts except Harry, whose pout just gets deeper as time goes on. He doesn’t want Louis’ family to think he’s stupid or that he’s trying too hard, but he doesn’t want to look like a slob either, so he’d tried to pick out something sensible and yet age-appropriate. As if Louis can read his mind, he rolls his eyes fondly and says, “Harry, babe, I swear that if you looked ridiculous I’d make you change. You look great.”

They all get in one car, Louis driving because he’d just gotten his license--after procrastinating taking driver’s ed for so long--and has been using any chance he can to drive, even if it means coming with Eleanor all the way to Harry and the boys’ college to pick them up and take them back to Louis’ house. For a barbeque. A  _ family _ barbeque. The very first time Harry will meet Louis’ family--and Harry is about to start freaking out.

That is, until they arrive at Louis’ house, a cute little suburban house with a backyard twice as big as the home itself. That’s where everyone is, or Harry assumes so because of the smoke wafting from the yard. And even though he can still feel the nerves creeping in, Louis’ calm is infectious and he knows he’ll be fine.

“Ready?” Louis asks, smiling first at Harry and then at everyone else.

With his gut turning and mind short-circuiting, Harry grimaces and steps out of the car.

+

“ Oh, Harry, you’ve  _ got _ to come meet Louis’ aunt, she’ll just love you.”

Harry’s cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. In the past hour, he’s been introduced to possibly every single Tomlinson/Deakin in the whole world. He lost Louis quite a while ago, as Jay started to take him around the yard and Louis started to get bored. Every now and then, he’ll hear Louis’ distinctive, loud laugh, so he’s not worried about him. And, honestly, he’s quite enjoying meeting all of Louis’ family, even the ones Louis hardly knows himself.

“Come on, dear,” Jay urges, gently tugging his arm in the direction of an older woman wearing a bright purple dress. When they approach her, she turns in their direction and Harry notices the piercing blue of her eyes, almost a pure replica of Louis’. “Look, Angela, this is the boy I was telling you about! Louis’ boyfriend!”

Angela opens her arms for a hug without even asking for his name, and it’s only when she pulls away that he gets a chance to say, “It’s nice to meet you, I’m Harry,” a phrase he’s said close to a billion times tonight, but hasn’t gotten tired of yet.

“Oh, a gentleman,” Angela puts a hand on her heart, clearing exaggerating, but it’s sweet anyway. “We were all terrified when he told us how old you were. Jay over here nearly had a stroke!”

Jay swats her on the arm with an indignant smirk. “You can’t blame me, love. But it’s alright, Harry, I know age has no number. If you were hurting him, that’d be a different story,” and even though her face stays the same--a bright smile and twinkling eyes--he sees how defensive she truly is over her son, and it’d scare him shitless if he weren’t already aware of how precious Louis is.

They spend a bit of time chatting with Angela before she gets hungry and goes back over to the food table. Jay scans the backyard and nods appreciatively. “Well, I think that’s everyone,” she smiles. “I suppose I should let you get back to Louis and your friends.”

Harry hugs her one last time and then they separate, Jay going off to find her husband and Harry going off to find Louis. He doesn’t see him at first, but he finds Eleanor, and she points him in the direction of Louis’ bedroom inside, with a suggestive wink and an extremely inappropriate hip thrust (after making sure no one else was watching, of course). While still laughing from Eleanor’s little demonstration, he makes his way to Louis’ room, cautious of what he’ll find. Louis wouldn’t really expect them to--in his _ house _ ? With his family mere feet away?

Thankfully, when Harry pushes open Louis’ bedroom door, his boyfriend is still fully clothed, lying on his stomach on his bed with his feet in the air and his phone in his hand. His face lights up when he sees Harry, and he rolls over to meet him halfway.

“Finally,” Louis grins, pressing a quick kiss to Harry’s lips before lying back on the bed again and patting the empty space next to him. Harry complies, situating himself so they’re sort of spooning but still facing each other. It should, by law of physics, be awkward, but they fit like puzzle pieces. “I’ve been up here for an hour now, babe. Was Mum with you the whole time?”

“A fair bit,” Harry laughs, even though it really was the entire two hours. “How come you’re not outside?”

Louis cuddles closer, if that's possible, and lets out a tiny yawn, reminiscent of a kitten taking its first breath. “Was tired,” he says. “And I wanted to talk to you.”

“Well, I’m here now.”

There’s silence for a moment, as they just watch each other's’ faces with content. “It’s my birthday tomorrow.”

Harry’s eyes practically bug out of his head. “Get out of here!” he cries, and then cringes at how distinctly American he sounds. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Louis smiles, the mischief in his eyes clear. “Wanted to see your reaction. Let me say, I was not disappointed.”

Pouting, Harry says, “Now I have hardly any time to buy a gift, or, what if I wanted to plan a surprise party? It’s too late now, Louis, you’ve ruined your hypothetical surprise party! Lou,” he deepens his pout, sort of hoping Louis will kiss it off of him. Of course, Louis does, and Harry almost forgets his train of thought while Louis’ tongue boldly slides between his lips, but then he pulls away so he can continue. “Babe, I wish you would have told me.”

“ No, no, I don’t want a surprise party, and you don’t have to get me anything,” Louis says, and then looks at him like Harry is dumb. “Harry, it’s my  _ seventeenth _ birthday. I was hoping, you know, I could come over? Tomorrow night?”

Harry finally understands, after it being spelled out for him. Except for the night that brought them together, they’ve done nothing more than make out. Even though it would technically be legal, Harry has felt uncomfortable with anything more, still so terrified of being one of those sleazy men from his college. 

“Are you sure?” Harry eyebrows are knitted in concentration, studying Louis’ face for even a glint of apprehension. “We don’t have to, I swear. Louis, I’m perfectly happy waiting for as long as you want.”

Now Louis looks cautious too. “Hold on, do  _ you _ want to wait? I mean, like, of course I’d wait for you too, but are you, you know, into me? You want to, don’t you?”

“ Jesus, of course I do,” Harry blushes. “Of course I want to have sex with my  _ boyfriend _ . I just want to make sure that you’re okay. Because it’s different when you’re sober. I don’t know how much of that night you remember, but from what I know, it’s so much easier to just go along with something when you’re drunk. But I don’t want that with you. This is like… Our first  _ real  _ time, and I want you to know that you won’t regret it afterwards.”

“ Harry, if I don’t regret getting drunk off my arse and fucking you at a college party,” at this, Louis starts blushing too, almost like he hadn’t realized what he’d been saying until the words were out of his mouth. “If I don’t regret that, then why would I regret us _ really _ being together? When we can both remember it the morning after? And, you know, that’d be pretty good if you were still there when I woke up.”

Even though Louis doesn’t sound accusing, it still hurts to think about what he did, just leaving Louis there that morning. He’s already apologized for it, but it doesn’t feel like enough.

“ I will be, promise,” Harry nods. “I wouldn’t even  _ think _ of leaving, babe.”

+

Harry and Louis finally emerge from Harry’s dorm room on Sunday afternoon with crazy hair, wrinkled clothes, and reeking of too much cologne to try and hide the obvious indicator of what they’d been doing all weekend long. They’re heading towards the showers, hoping not to see anyone they know, but of course Niall--who is  _ far  _ too invested in their relationship--is waiting for them at the entrance.

“Really, Niall?” Harry asks, exasperatedly. Louis laughs loudly and then half-hides behind Harry.

“How’d it go?” Niall glances between them, raising his eyebrows.

“It went just fine,” Harry rolls his eyes, too amused to be annoyed by Niall’s actions.

“ Okay, but  _ how _ fine? Louis, did he treat you right? Do I need to hit him?”

Louis giggles and clenches the fabric from the back of Harry’s shirt in his small fist. “No, we’re good.”

“ Yeah?” Niall says, and Harry admires the way that his friend would literally beat Harry up for Louis if he needed to. Louis seems to like it too, if his bright smile is anything to go by. “Well, then I suppose I’ll leave you to it. Remember, it's a public place--anything you do  _ will  _ get heard by everyone else in the room!”

Then Niall walks away, cackling to himself until he’s out of hearing distance.

“That--” Louis starts, and then laughs so hard he can’t finish.

Harry is hopelessly endeared by the eye-crinkles and the laugh lines and the shiny teeth and the gasping breaths… Really, he loves everything Louis does. “I love you,” he tells him, wrapping an arm around his waist to hold him steady. “So much, Lou.”

Louis tries to kiss him, but his smile is too wide and he’s too exhausted to keep it going for longer than a few seconds. “I know,” he giggles, and then skips off to the showers. Harry follows him in, stripping off quickly and joining Louis in the same stall, which is strictly prohibited, but since there’s no one else in the showers at the moment, he thinks it’s okay. He kisses Louis’ cheek and then squirts shampoo into his palm to wash his hair. Louis starts humming a tune from the radio, only starting to sing when Harry encourages him to. His voice, as always, is the perfect balance between strong and weak, able to hold power in some moments but sounds vulnerable in others. Harry is so captivated that he gives up on washing himself in favor of listening to his boyfriend sing.

When the song is finished, Louis opens his eyes and smiles bashfully. Harry can’t help but smile too, as he says, “You’re going to be  _ so _ famous one day. I’ll be sitting in the VIP section backstage, watching you perform in a giant arena for  _ thousands _ , just another night of your massive world tour.”

Louis blushes so hard that he has to hide his face in Harry’s chest--or, that’s his excuse, anyway. “Actually, I, uh--I got this, like, letter? The other day?”

Harry takes a tiny step back so he can look into Louis’ eyes. “What letter?”

“From, like, this record company…” Louis bites his lip so hard it could bruise. “They, uh, want me to come in and, you know, audition. Me and Eleanor.”

“ Really?” Harry breathes, his mouth dropping open. “Oh my god, this is big, right? What company? Are they any good? Holy  _ shit _ , Lou, this is huge!”

Louis nods his head frantically, his eyes filling with happy tears. “I know, I know, I just--what if I’m not what they want? What if they only want Eleanor? Or worse, neither of us?”

“Well, then there are plenty of other record companies, and you’re still so young. But they’ll love you, Louis, they’ve got to! You and Eleanor sound so good together, they’d be the stupidest people on Earth not to pick you!”

Louis starts crying, and then starts mumbling something about being too emotional, so Harry pulls him into a hug, completely disregarding the fact that they’re still naked because Louis needs him now. “Shh, Lou, don’t worry about anything. Everything will work out perfectly in the end.”

After he’s calmed down a bit, Louis finally cracks a smile again and says, “Apparently they had just hired someone to go through the internet and find ‘undiscovered talent’, and they came across Eleanor and I’s website and blog and thought we were a couple. In the letter, they called her my girlfriend,” he laughs. “So when I called them back and told them I’m gay, I was really scared that they would want me to pretend, like, that she really is my girlfriend, but they didn’t! They were so embarrassed, I actually felt bad.”

“Well that’s good, then, that they want you to be yourself,” Harry pushes a strand of wet hair away from Louis’ eyes. “You should never pick a label that wants to change you.”

“I haven’t got much choice at the moment, love,” Louis rolls his eyes fondly. “I just got lucky with this one.”

“Oh, shut up! Soon enough, you’ll have so many record companies fighting over you that you won’t know what to do with yourself!”

“Sure, sure, whatever you say,” Louis quips, kissing Harry’s cheek. “Now wash up, babe, you still smell like sex.”

+

The entire atmosphere is  _ soaked _ with anticipation and excitement, so much so that Harry is caught up in it again, although it's been so long that he should be a silent observer by now. Still, as he hears someone near him scream, “Holy fuck, I love you Louis!” all he can do is nod his head along and think  ‘ _ yes, yes, I completely agree’ _ . There’s still a few minutes before the concert starts, and people are just now starting to notice Harry in the audience. The girl behind him, the one who keeps yelling about Louis, realizes who he is and  _ screams _ in his ear to ask for a picture. Harry just laughs and complies, taking a quick selfie with the girl who looks close to tears already.

It’s still so crazy to him. Just being here watching Louis on stage is enough, but adding in the fact that some people actually want to see Harry too--thinking about it makes his head hurt. Because he’s not really famous, necessarily, but most of the fans know he’s Louis’ boyfriend and they go almost as crazy around him as they do around Louis. After Louis made it big and told the world about Harry, Harry had been offered multiple auditions of his own, but he’s always known being a singer or an actor just isn’t for him. He had, however, taken a few modeling jobs, but mostly just for the fun of it. He’s got his college degree, so he’s not planning on being a model for long. It’s just something to do, while Louis is on tour or in the studio and too stressed to really spend every day with Harry. They make it work, though, and never go a day without at least talking to each other over Skype.

Most times, though, Harry is here, on tour right alongside Louis. He loves watching his boyfriend go up there and sing his heart out with Eleanor, and he especially loves seeing the constant awe on Louis’ face--every time is like the first time, he once told Harry. He still can’t believe all these people came to see them sing.

Harry can’t believe it either, sometimes, and he always remembers the moment five years ago when Louis got his first real chance at a career in singing and Harry had unknowingly foreshadowed his entire life. He likes to remind Louis of that whenever possible.

Finally, the lights in the stadium go down and the music starts, and the whole audience erupts in ear-piercings screams. Louis and Eleanor walk out from different ends of the stage, both of them immediately waving at the farthest seats in the back, even though the lights are so bright that they can’t actually see the audience that far away. They eventually make their way to center stage, glancing at each other in mutual disbelief, like always. And then they start singing--their voices intertwining perfectly and bouncing off each other. Song after song goes on until Harry’s very favorite, the first song Louis ever wrote and performed, also the first song about Harry.

As the opening chords of “Strong” start filling the arena, Harry takes a deep breath and starts unfolding the giant sign he brought with him. Louis’ mum and stepdad, who are sitting to his right, both have giant smiles on their face as they watch the scene unfold. Harry makes eye-contact with one of the stage crew members, who gives him a thumbs up and then says something into his microphone. Then Harry’s face is suddenly on the massive screen behind Louis and he stops breathing. Louis doesn’t notice at first, until Eleanor nudges him and points at it. He almost stops singing, as he stares confusedly at the screen, and then turns around to try and find Harry in the audience. Once he does, he sees Harry starting to hold something in the air. Eleanor’s voice trails out, too caught up in the excitement to keep singing.

Louis can’t read what’s on the sign that Harry is now holding above his head, so he turns around to look at the screen and instantly drops the microphone. Thankfully, the crew had the common sense to turn it off before hand so there was no noise, but Louis doesn’t think he’d care if there had been. Because there, right there on the screen, was Harry, proudly holding up a sign that reads “Will You Marry Me?”

Louis promptly bursts into tears, his eyes so blurry that he can’t even re-read the sign to make sure he saw it correctly. All he can do is nod his head so fast that he gets dizzy, and then when he’s calm enough, he runs towards the emergency stairs off the stage with his security next to him to keep him safe, straight towards his family’s section. Harry is waiting for him, not on one knee, but holding a ring box in his outstretched hand.

“Oh my god,” Louis mutters, hugging him desperately. Harry wraps his arms around him and, when Louis holds out his hand, slips the ring on his finger. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” Harry gasps, pressing short kisses all over Louis’ forehead and cheeks, finally stopping on his lips. They keep it tame, because they are still aware of the thousands of people watching, though it feels like it’s just the two of them in a big, empty arena. “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I swore I wouldn't write another marriage proposal, and yet here I am (mostly because of a very nice critic on another work of mine, who pointed out that I tend to make my endings abrupt and leave out the fluff). Anyway, thank you so much for reading! Every single kudos or comment is greatly appreciated! :)  
> ( homelyrics.tumblr.com )


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